


From Beginning to End

by 35_leukothea



Series: They Never Really Leave Us [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1980735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35_leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of brief destiel/deancas oneshots, inspired by one-word prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter title is a prompt from a list I found in a reference post. Some of the chapters are based on episodes, but there is no particular order to them, concerning either episode chronology or the order of the prompts.
> 
> The link to the prompts is here: http://kathrineroid.wordpress.com/2011/09/25/100-themes-challenge-writing-prompts/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number one. First person present tense, Dean's point of view. Based on 4.01, "Lazarus Rising."

Monsters don't scare me. Ghosts don't scare me, demons don't scare me. What I don't know—that scares me. More than I'd like to admit. And so when I see whatever it is that just blasted out the lights and strode through that barn door like it fucking owns the place pull the _demon knife_ out of its chest without so much as flinching, I am a little scared.

...just a little, okay? We're clear on that? Little bit. You'd have to squint to tell.

At first with all the sparks jumping around and the hundreds of twisting patterns and sigils painted onto the walls making me dizzy (only a little!), I could barely see what it was. It looked like a man, but then again, so do lots of considerably unpleasant things. Now I am thinking,  _Maybe I am pretty out of it_ , because when a great flash of light illuminated a shadow behind it of what  _looked_  to be a pair of massive wings, I barely even processed it. Here I am, scared for my life, scared for Bobby's life, really fucking confused, facing what is apparently the most powerful being I've ever encountered, and only now just deciding that hey! those dark shapes kinda looked like wings.

I force myself to speak. "Who are you?" I demand.

I expect him to smirk at me, or even give me a humorless laugh, like most evil things do when I ask that question, but he is very sincere. "I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he says, in what he probably thinks is a great answer.

"Well, uh, yeah," I agree, very off-put by his serious demeanor and surprisingly deep voice. The lights flare to life again, and I see his face in its entirety; a small part of my mind wonders,  _Does he own a hairbrush?_ , but the larger part just screams,  _BLUE_.

Blue, very blue, blue to the point of slightly unnerving, to be honest, although—no, Dean, you're _busy_ —how can you be distracted at a time like thi—? Oh, shit. Shit. Abort. I'm distracted. I'm—

" _No_!"

Then all of that goes out the window, goes straight to the place I just got out of, since it seems I just missed my good-as father trying to save my stupid ass because I was preoccupied with that  _thing's_ fucking eyes, oh, God, what did it—

"Relax," he practically commands, the edge in his voice stern, pushing my shoulders with his hands to keep me back. "Your friend is alive."

" _Alive_?" I spit at him, ducking under his arms to check Bobby's pulse—it's there, but fuck if I know what just happened to him. "That's comforting! Who even are you?"

The man raises his chin slightly, looking at me down his nose. With anyone or anything else, I probably would've found the gesture condescending, but somehow he manages to have an arrogant posture while still being—there's no other word for it— _gracious_. "I'm Castiel."

I blink once, my mouth slightly open. "Ca— _what_?" I shake my head. "No, I mean,  _what_ are you?"

Castiel. Sounds like something out of a book, doesn't it? Actually, as far as I can tell, his whole goddamn persona is something out of a book—electricity crackling, breaking glass and practically melting my brains out, and, he's, well...he's  _pretty_. Not like  _attractive_ pretty, hell no, but like a sort of...artwork pretty. As if he jumped out of a museum painting that way, with his dark hair sticking every which way and his eyes colored like the damn ocean, as if the overly-dignified yet somehow-courteous way he speaks and walks are completely effortless. He seems to be a strange mix between a king, with all that _power_ at his beck and call, and a diplomat, answering my questions without enough truth to be considered impolite.

...does anything I just said make any sense whatsoever? I, uh...got a little...carried away, I think.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," this Castiel informs me, snapping out of my thoughts, and though his tone couldn't be more honest, I almost laugh—I  _want_ to laugh. I can't have possibly heard what I think I just heard.

"Sorry,  _what_?" I say, unable to keep the spite out of my voice. "Why don't you just wake up Bobby and get the hell out of here, there's no such thing."

Castiel sighs, though he expresses no real exasperation in it; it's an act, I can tell. He doesn't seem like the kind of person to sigh and fret at others' disbelief. "This is your problem, Dean," he says with again only a hint of weariness. "You have no faith."

Another flash of lightning, and once again I see the silhouette of wings on the patterned barn walls behind him.  _Angel_. What does that even mean? What does that mean to  _me_? Nothing, not a goddamn thing. This is utter bullshit. "Some angel you are," I scoff, hiding my confusion and vague distress behind whatever snark I can muster. "You burned that poor woman's eyes out."

Though his irritation had been a guise before, as far as I can tell, his dismay now is pretty genuine, even if it's not very noticeable. "I warned her not to," he says remorsefully, staring at the ground. "Looking at my true form, hearing my true voice...it can be overwhelming for humans." Then he glances back at me, and I'm locked in those eerie blue eyes once again. "But you already knew that."

I frown slightly, unsure of what he means at first, then realize—"The gas station and the motel, the TV going nuts, everything breaking?" I already guessed it had been him, but  _damn_. "That was you  _talking_?" 

Castiel nods, and I shake my head, incredulous. "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

He looks a bit concerned at this too, but maybe a better word is _inconvenienced_. "That was my mistake," he admits honorably. "Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them." He hesitates slightly before adding (rather unnecessarily), "I was wrong."

For some reason, at these words I feel almost...sorry. He thought I would be able to see him, and I couldn't. I disappointed him.

I blink again, then inwardly hit myself— _look at that fucking thing, Dean, do you think he needs your pity?_ I surface from my thoughts, then demand, "And what  _visage_ are you in now, huh? Holy tax accountant?"

He doesn't laugh. "This?" he asks, looking down at himself. "This is a vessel."

 _Vessel? As in_ demon _vessel?_ "You're  _possessing_ some poor bastard?" I blurt, my unspoken message unequivocal.

Castiel looks as if he wants to protest, defend himself, showing the first real emotion I have seen from him, but he quells that too. "He's a devout man," he explains calmly. "He actually prayed for this.

I snort—somebody  _volunteered_ to host this heavenly douchewad? Likely. "Well, I'm not buying what you're selling," I tell him stoutly. "So who are you really?"

He frowns at me, apparently under the impression that his story is very convincing. "I told you."

"Right, right, you're an  _angel_ ," I say quickly, pretending to be apologetic. "And why would an angel rescue me from Hell, pray do tell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean," he reminds me sincerely.

 _Thank you for the explanation._ "Not in my experience," I retort, refusing to be that even-tempered in return.

He narrows his eyes, suddenly turning cold; the expression isn't suspicious so much as thoughtful, though. "What's the matter?" he asks. "You don't...you don't think you deserve to be saved?"

My breath catches in my throat and I completely ignore his question, because if I don't ignore it I'll begin to think about it too. "Why'd you do it?" I insist, maybe a little more harshly than necessary.

And as if the angelic bastard knows how badly it will screw with my head, as if he wants to teach me some sort of fucking _lesson_ for my cynicism, he answers evenly, "Because God commanded it."

I stare.

This time, Castiel dips his head instead of raising it, but his hold on my gaze is still stronger than ever. He takes a deep breath inward, and when his chest and shoulders rise and expand, I see it—I see his wings in my head, I see them spreading slowly, their span probably wider than the barn as this _angel_ uses the gesture to make himself seem bigger, scarier, more important. He's trying to impress me. It's working.

"Because," he declares, "we have work for you."


	2. Umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number 49. Third person past tense, Castiel's point of view. College AU.

History in the morning was always annoying—it required too much effort—but it was just plain _brutal_ during the theology unit. It was not something Castiel wanted to think about first thing after he opened his eyes, like, _Hey, wake up and smell the fucking controversy!_ Yeah, no thank you. Hence, after a decent five hours of sleep, a more-than-lacking breakfast (his sister Anna always claimed he got so distracted he forgot he had basic human needs), and being lectured at for over an hour, he was tired to say the least. And because he didn't have enough to add to his drowsiness, spring was allergy season for him, and it was raining. It was all he could do to keep himself awake  _during_ class, much less as soon as he stepped outside. So walking back to his dorm with his coat collar turned up and his head down (which really did nothing to avoid getting wet), it came as no surprise when he walked straight into something.

Some _one_ , actually.

"Fu—OW!"

"Whoa, whoa!" the person cried when Castiel tripped and nearly fell face-forward into the pavement, grabbing his shoulders and righting him. "Hey, buddy, you alright? You gotta watch where you're going!"

"I'm—I'm fine," he spluttered, brushing his hair out of his face and readjusting his backpack before glancing at who he'd ran into: the man looked to be about his age, with short, light hair and a pair of eyes that he couldn't decide the exact color of, somewhere between green and hazel. He had on a leather jacket and was holding his umbrella over the both of them, which somewhere in the back of his mind, Castiel found funny, because did the kind of guy who wore leather jackets really care about getting rained on? He shook his head a little and returned from his thoughts. "S-sorry, I'm sorry, I just—dunno what happened—"

"It's okay, calm down," the man coaxed. "Aren't you cold? That coat looks really thin."

Castiel glanced down at himself; he hadn't realized it would be this chilly and had left his winter jacket at the dorm, but his trenchcoat was surprisingly warm. Or, it would be, if he wasn't soaked. "I'm fine," he insisted, before attempting to force back a sneeze and failing without dignity. The man raised his eyebrows at him, amused, and Castiel glared at him. "Allergies," he said stoutly.

"Alright, if you say so," was the good-natured response. "I'm Dean."

"Castiel," he replied, waiting for the inevitable "Casti- _what_?"that usually followed his self-introductions, but Dean seemed unperturbed.

"Okay, Castiel—can I call you Cas?—right, Cas then. Where you headed?"

He shrugged. "Library."

"Oh, hey, me too," said Dean lightly. "We can walk together."

It was Castiel's turn to raise his eyebrows. "We were going in opposite directions," he reminded him dryly.

There was a short pause; for a moment, he was afraid Dean might get mad at him, but he just sighed and dropped his head. "That works on most people, you know," he said wistfully. "Can I come with you anyway? You're gonna get pneumonia or some shit if you walk all that way in this rain."

Cas hesitated; it'd be nice, but he didn't want to get Dean in trouble if he skipped class because of this. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he asked. "I mean, it's not like many college students have anything to do on a Tuesday morning that isn't work-related."

"Nah, I was just headed to see my little brother Sam downtown," he explained. "He and my dad are in the area today, we decided to meet up."

Castiel frowned. "Your brother doesn't have school?"

He laughed a little bit, but it was more like a grimace. "Long story," he said, avoiding the question. "It won't matter if I call him and change the time, trust me, and I am not letting you freeze to death."

Castiel sneezed again. "Or die of allergies," he added. "Okay, I guess. If you really, really,  _really_ want to—"

"Great," Dean interrupted him, grabbing his arm and pulling him along, a gesture to which Cas' brain responded with a bunch of question marks and an exclamation point or two. "What do you study, Cas?"

"Uh," he said intelligently. "Anthropology. History, linguistics, the works."

Dean clicked his tongue. "Jeez, that's some heavy shit. You must really like humans."

"Well, we're a very interesting species!" he told him knowledgeably. "And there's still so much we don't understand about ourselves, even concerning relatively recent things, like origins of certain languages or how our emotions work in different social situations. Combined with biology and natural sciences, archaeology, sociology, and tons of other stuff, there's no possible way we can ever know everything. It's fascinating, really!" He paused to breathe and yawn (and nearly run into Dean when he closed his eyes). "What about you, what do you study?"

"Engineering," Dean said, looking slightly shaken by Cas' sudden outburst. "Mechanics and stuff." Then he laughed that awkward little laugh again, sounding vaguely mortified for some reason, and decided, "That was kind of adorable."

Castiel stared at him, bemused. "What?"

"You just got really excited there for a minute," he explained, "like a puppy or something. It was funny."

Cas blinked and looked away. "Oh," he said flatly, not really understanding. "Um...thanks?"

Dean snorted and shook his head, but his amusement was genuine and he threw an arm around Cas' shoulders—it was very friendly, but he froze up anyway. "We gotta work on your people skills, buddy," he noted, not unkindly. "For someone who knows so much on the subject, I gotta say they're rusty."

Castiel felt himself flush and tried to ignore it; he was suddenly very inexplicably nervous. With Dean practically holding him upright, he realized just how tired he was. "Yeah, that's an understatement," he agreed, then stopped them as Dean started to take a crosswalk in the wrong direction. "Hey, where you going?"

"What?" Dean said, surprised; he withdrew his arm and took a step backwards, remembered he was the one with the umbrella, then took a step forwards at the same time Cas did and nearly knocked heads with him. "Fuck—sorry—"

"—it's fine—"

"—are you—?"

"—I'm  _fine_ , Dean," he insisted, trying not to laugh.

Dean took a deep breath. "Right, sorry. And, um...I kind of haven't been to the library since...uh..." He took a moment to think. "Early freshman year?"

Castiel sighed and shook his head. "Fucking science majors," he muttered. "You can recite quantum physics but you can't memorize a map."

Dean cracked a dry grin. "Fucking science majors, are we?" he asked, before turning and briskly heading down the right path.

Cas opened his mouth to respond with some other snarky comment, then shut it abruptly and stopped in his tracks as he realized that that sentence had two very, very different interpretations, and he was not entirely sure which one Dean had meant.

 _Well, shit_ , he thought to himself, before running to catch up and get out of the cold, drizzling rain.


	3. Light + The True You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A combination of prompts 28 and 71. First person present tense, Dean's point of view. Written like a journal entry. Canon verse.

You know, sometimes I have to remind myself that Cas isn't actually a person. Like, yeah, he's a person, but he's not a  _person_ , not a living, breathing person. Well, maybe Jimmy's body still needs to breathe, so he would do that—but then by those rules, he would have to sleep and eat too, and—God, I feel uncomfortable just  _thinking_ about this. It's weird, okay? It's just weird! Does he...does he have human senses? Does he  _see_ stuff the same way? I bet he can see more wavelengths if he wants. What does stuff  _taste_ like? Can he just  _elect_ to not use his taste buds if it's gross or something?

...okay, no, that's weird too, we're not talking about that anymore.

And sometimes I think about this at the most awkward times, like he glances at me and I suddenly just start wondering what he's actually looking at, or even doing. Does he see my normal face? Is he staring past me at something that's happening halfway across the planet? Is he reading my fucking mind? God, I hate angels. I feel like I don't know anything about him, the true part of him. When he's, you know, ranting about bees or misinterpreting my references or yelling at me for being a stupid piece of shit, that's my Cas, that's the part I know. But sometimes, he's...well, frankly, I don't know  _what_ he is, that's what I've been saying all along. When he goes full-angel mode it's honestly pretty terrifying. He's really freakin' smitey when he's pissed, and ends up burning half the population's eyes out and breaking every piece of glass within a ten-mile radius, not to mention stabbing people left and right and blowing shit up with a single touch. The part of Cas I know, he wouldn't do that, he'd never do that. But that's the Cas I can see, that's when he's still—I don't know the right word— _hindered_ by his vessel, when it keeps him from being whatever it is he really is. It's when his light switch turns on, and everything is suddenly silver and blue and glowing and  _angelic_ that he starts going...

Okay, you know what? This is getting way too flowery for my taste, I feel like I need to go—submerge myself in cleaning alcohol—ugh, this is sick. Feelings,  _poetry_. Shoot me. What I'm  _trying_ to say is I am sitting here trying to figure out what is wrong with me for loving and being terrified of my best friend at the same time—at the _exact_ same time, almost, like maybe sometimes with the difference of a fucking millisecond—and I can still barely get my head around the fact that this is something I have to think about at all. Ugh, angels. Do yourself a favor and never fall in love with an angel. Never be friends with an angel. Actually, just don't even associate with the angels. And don't associate with all the freaky religious people who try to convince you angels are great guys that do nothing but good stuff for everybody, I haven't forgotten how _that_ turned out. I don't know what's crazier, those people or all the preachy crap they believe in. Those are the two scariest things in this world, I'd say: angels and overly-vehement religious people. _  
_

Although you know, that one lady obsessed with fairies was pretty insane too, not gonna lie. I know I yelled at Sam for being rude to her, but she really was a little on the eccentric side. And besides, the guy had no soul, you can't really blame him for speaking his mind on  _that_ , can you? Granted, he spoke his mind on everything, so I don't suppose that excuse is worth a whole lot.

Actually, I kind of forgot about that creepy lady a little bit...now that I think about it, that entire escapade was slightly-to-extremely horrifying. I microwaved a fairy, haha, remember that—?

...I'm talking to myself.

You know, this might have been a less-weird conversation when I was spouting confused poetry about my angel boyfriend. Ugh, and that—that dream...with the... _table_...

Yeah, I'm gonna go take that isopropyl shower now as I relive my alien abduction and rid myself of all this philosophical contemplation on a subject I can never possibly understand! Good day and do not associate with angels.


End file.
